Classless

I was going to write a huge post about Max Hall's post rivalry game comments. But my friends already have here and here. And I agree with them, so we'll leave it at that, except for one additional comment. In general, I think that many fans throughout Utah have a lot to learn about being classy, regardless of who they cheer for. If you don't believe me, ask one of our college athletes what the fans are like at any football school in the south or a basketball school in the east.

Still I reserve the right to go off on a diatribe about it means to be a good fan.

Appetite for Destruction

Winter sports seem particular insane to me. Maybe it's because our minds are addled by the lack of sunlight, but somehow we become convinced that snow is actually a soft and forgiving substance, forgetting the rocks, trees and general hardness of the underlying surface. Just ask the freestyle skier who just head-planted on national television exactly how soft the snow is.

We decide to hurl ourselves down a steep incline on some device that serves to reduce the life preserving friction that normally exists between man and mountain. At least in the case of skiing and snowboarding, we have some control over the sliding that necessarily ensues, but not so in sledding. Of course, none of this would be a problem, if it weren't for gravity.

Let me illustrate.

Before: and After:

Or, in a similar fashion:



Normally I refrain from sledding, because I don't want to get hurt in the middle of snowboard season. I relented this time, and I must say that there's something particularly wonderful about screaming your way down a mountain with reckless abandon.

The coupe de drace, though, wasn't captured on film -- and a good thing, too because I'd never live it down. On the day's fastest sled, I took a running start and jetted down the white surface. I deftly avoided the bigger bumps that would threaten to separate me from the sled. (Odd, isn't it, that we clutch so tightly onto the thing that is responsible for our rapid descent?)

I sailed past my friends at the base of the hill with surprising momentum. It was then that I noticed the four wheeler parked directly in my path. Thinking that I'd slow down now that I was on the flat, I contentedly watched the driver taking pictures of his kids. Totally unaware of my speed, I closed the gap much fast than I anticipated. I rolled off to the side, but much, much too late. My shoulder collided with the front left tire of the ATV with more force than I care to remember. It was then that the father pulled his face from the camera's viewfinder, looked down at me sprawled and moaning, and said, "Oh! ... I thought I felt it move."

Warren Miller and Human Nature

"You know what the street value of this mountain is?"

Every year, the Warren Miller ski movie marks the unofficial beginning of winter. This year was no exception. I sat in a packed theatre and issued my share of "oohh"s and "aahh"s as we were all mesmerized by 8000 foot verticals in Alaska, waist deep powder in Utah, and something called "speed riding" over the craggy alps (more about that later.)

Despite the fact that the lifts and trams won't run for another month, I find myself anxious for the white stuff. Unlike so many people I know, I want it to fall by the bucketful. I figure that if I'm going to live in a place that's freezing cold for a third of the year, I might as well enjoy it! It's all I can do right now to NOT put the snow gear on right now and waddle around the house.

So, back to this "speed riding". This is, basically, the most insane thing I have ever seen in a Warren Miller film. These two guys fly down this mountain in the alps using parasails, going 50 to 60 miles an hour, jumping across this Seussian looking terrain in a surprisingly similar fashion as those really weird flying scenes in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but with a punk rock soundtrack. The footage is amazing, and the mountains are so shear and violent that they look decidedly alien. When you're done marveling at the scenery, you quickly realize that these two men are probably the most insane people in the world. Every second of flight, the line between an eventual safe landing and becoming a tomato colored stain on a granite outcropping is blurred.

And, that brings me to my second thought of the evening. It occurred to me today that one of the biggest differences between man and animal is that man will purposefully do things that he knows are not good for him. In fact, this seems to be the very curse of our intelligence. Though granted the wisdom to avoid hurt and and limit pain, both physical and emotional, we still, at times, ignore it. Sometimes we move inexorably towards self destruction. Other times, we take risks and expose ourselves because we hope for something better or more exciting. And while we're not always successful, and pain does inevitably ensue, I think it's this very proclivity to rise above the "safe" course that does truly make us human.

That said, I'm still not jumping off of any French mountains.

A Utah phenomenon?

Attending the Priesthood session on Saturday night, I witnessed a very irritating Utah phenomenon. Just after President Hinkley finished his closing remarks, but before the closing hymn or prayer, a number of men (some were fathers with sons) fled the chapel with the urgency you'd expect of someone with bladder control issues. I felt like booing or at least mocking their apparent incontinence, but that would have been juvenile and immature.

These guys didn't realize it, but they were making a subtle statement about what kind of people they really are. It's one of those very small things that I think is a surprisingly good indicator of a person's true character and priorities. When someone leaves early, it makes you wonder in what other ways they might "leave early". In life and particularly in relationships, there's no "leaving early." Those who cut corners and bail out before the end simply aren't successful.

It may seem a stretch to infer the nature of someone's character from such a simple act, but there's really no excuse for leaving early like that. What pressing business do you have on a Saturday evening? I don't care how bad you think traffic might be. I don't care what football game might be on TV, or that you're going to miss the beginning of Grey's Anatomy. Just don't leave early.

If you have a genuine NEED to leave early, you will probably know this in advance and should make arrangements to leave inconspicuously (ex: Sit near an exit and leave between acts.) Or, you should try apologize in advance (ex: "Please excuse Brother so-and-so, his daughter is singing in his home ward.")

In certain very rare circumstances (such as being morally offended) it is appropriate and justified to leave early, as you both making an important statement and defending your character. In most other situations, however, leaving early says that you are any combination of being insensitive, uncultured, pretentious, ignorant, self-absorbed, and just plain lazy.

I think we need a code. My suggestion is below.

Though shalt not leave before:

• the closing prayer.
• the mess is cleaned up.
• the fire has died.
• the last pitch.
• the last shot.
• the last pass.
• the clock reads 0:00.
• the credits roll.
• the house lights come up.
• the last encore.
• the last curtain call.
• the last kiss.
• saying goodbye.

The list above is certainly not all-inclusive. And I should mention that great experiences are to be had by lingering -- don't be in such a hurry to take off when things are over. I remember deep conversations while credits roll, running into old friends where you least expect them, and really getting to know people while doing dishes.

Okay, my rant is over -- and I'll bet that no one who reads this is someone who leaves early. But I have to wonder, is it just me, or does "leaving early" seem much more common in Utah than elsewhere? (I've even seen it at the Conference Center, of all places.)

Am I one of "those" guys?

Last week I drove to Logan, Utah, to watch my college alma mater, the Utah State Aggies, take on it's conference rival, the Nevada Wolf Pack. Along with 10,000+ screaming and clapping fans, I anxiously held my breath as we won a very tight game. And it was there, with those 10,000 fans, screaming and clapping like I was still in college, that I had a horrifying thought: "Am I turning into one of those guys?"

You know the guy I'm talking about. He's over forty, balding, and pot-bellied, but still wears his college hoodie like a badge of pride, as if the athletic accomplishments of his favorite academic institution give his life meaning. He yells at refs, scowls at opposing fans, and spends most of the game on his feet, regardless of the little kids behind him who can't see.

The day after a game, his voice is hoarse from the yelling, his back aches because of the plastic chair that would be better suited for a toddler, and he's grouchy as hell because his team lost. He yearns for the days of coach so-and-so, and for that great player with so many wins who would have gone pro if he hadn't been busted for smoking weed.

Thankfully, I'm nowhere near this bad. But, it occurred to me, as a co-worker made fun of my Utah State t-shirt on game day, that men have a strange way of getting all tangled up into sports. I thought of this again when, with a tie score and only seconds to play, one of our players was fouled and went to shoot his free throws. At that moment, I was nearly as anxious as I would be on a first date or a job interview. I had to ask, why do I do this to myself? Why do I subject myself to such emotions when the outcome is completely outside of my control?

Sports fanaticism is one of the cruelest forms to masochism I can think of. It's like being in love with a girl who you know will break your heart at least once or twice a year. And it's not just a "I'm not really into you" kind of break up, but a grinding, decimating, sob-ridden break up that sucks your will to live. And yet, you come back, season after season, only to be body slammed into the mat again.

You may think that I'm being over dramatic, but every team looses. It's inevitable; it's the nature of sports. It's actually one of the great things that children can learn from sports-- how to lose gracefully. Of course, if you're one that is grief stricken and wrought with torment when "your team" loses, it's probably fair to say you missed out on that lesson.